The House on Brouncker Road
by chelsie fan
Summary: This is the story of a house - and the people whose love makes it a home.


**A/N This is a little story about a house and some people. No one we know. Any similarity to characters, real or fictional, is purely coincidental. (*Cough, wink.*)**

**I must thank three people for their help with this story. Brenna-louise and evitamockingbird offered me their general impressions and advice. And GeordieLass checked the CS subtitles and helped me with the spelling of "Brouncker Road." I would not have guessed that it's spelled that way, but at least I'm smart enough to ask the right person.**

**Mild Warning: This story does end in character death, but not in a tragic or morbid way. It might be slightly sad, but it's not meant to be. ALL stories end in character death if followed through to their natural conclusions. As Mrs. Hughes wisely and aptly points out when she thinks she might be ill, "One day, I will die. And so will he, and you, and every one of us under this roof."**

**This story is somewhat different from anything I've written before, and I'm a little anxious about it. Please drop me a line and let me know what you think. Thanks for reading!**

**The House on Brouncker Road**

_Once, there was a house on Brouncker Road. It was a very pretty house, but no one lived in it. And so it remained just a house – until one day when an older couple came along. This is the story of how that house became a home._

There stood a house on Brouncker Road: a spacious cottage with brown shingles and white shutters and a heavy wooden front door. There were flower beds out front – along the picket fence and around the gate – and a vegetable garden in back. Two oak trees towered over the path leading to the front door, one on each side. A bench swing hung from the lowest, sturdiest branch of a smaller tree in back.

Oh, it was true: the shingles were a bit loose; the paint on the shutters was peeling a little; the wildflowers were slightly overgrown; the garden was somewhat neglected; the swing was in disrepair; and the inside of the house was completely empty. And yet it was a lovely place with great potential.

One day in late summer, an older couple visited. Or perhaps they weren't a "couple," exactly – yet – but a man and woman. The man was tall and broad, with a dimple in his chin, substantial, expressive eyebrows, and graying hair that must have been dark once and might be curly if freed from its pomade. The woman was quite pretty, with dancing blue eyes, a graceful frame, and striking silver streaks running through her otherwise auburn hair, which was smooth on the top and sides and pinned in a delicate arrangement at the back of her head.

The two examined the house and property thoroughly: walked every inch of every room, inspected the kitchen, opened cupboards, studied the fireplaces, knocked on walls, turned on water taps, flushed the commode, and opened and closed the windows. They paced around the outside, checking the foundation, the seals around the windows and doors, and the eaves of the roof. After their tour of the place, the man seemed quite pleased, but the woman seemed uncertain, apprehensive, and even sad, though she tried to hide it and he seemed not to notice. The couple left, and the house had no more visitors over the next few weeks.

In early fall, the man came back alone. He walked about the house, inside and out, with a heavy step, a quivering lip, and a tear in his eye. He bent to pick a fading flower, smelled it, and tossed it aside. He sat on the uneven swing and pushed himself listlessly back and forth. After one last, longing look, the man left through the back gate.

But several weeks later, in late fall, he returned again. This time he walked about the cottage and grounds hopefully. He had a spring in his step, a smile on his face, and a song on his lips. He left through the front gate, grinning and whistling a tune, looking back happily at the house.

A short time later, in early winter, the man visited along with another man. This time he held a clipboard with many papers, which both men signed after one final, careful going-over of the place. The other man left when their business was concluded, but the first lingered for a while, eyeing the place thoughtfully, before he folded the papers and tucked them proudly into his breast pocket.

Just after the new year began, the man returned with the woman. This time they most definitely _were_ a couple, for they held hands, smiled warmly at each other, and laughed easily, displaying a youthful exuberance that belied their advancing years. They walked through the rooms and talked excitedly of their plans. The man lifted the woman off her feet and swung her around, her skirt twirling out behind her as they spun. She laughed and kissed him fondly.

Over the next weeks, the pair visited the house frequently, both together and separately. The man painted the walls while the woman sized up the windows and hung curtains. He pounded some nails into the walls, and she hung pictures on them. Younger men sometimes accompanied them, fixing things or bringing furniture; and one day the woman brought two friends, a petite blonde and a sturdy redhead with curly locks, both of whom seemed duly impressed with the place and offered decorating suggestions. Soon the cottage was filled with the couple's belongings and warm touches that made the place very nearly a home.

When everything was in order, they came to stay for good. It was an early spring day, and both were dressed in their Sunday best, a simple silver band gleaming on the woman's finger. The groom carried his bride over the threshold, and the wife led her husband by the hand to their bedroom, though it was still the middle of the afternoon. Over the next week, the couple hardly set foot outside the front door or even left their bedroom, for that matter, but spent every moment filling the house with love and making it their home.

After that first week, the newlywed couple left for several days. When they returned, they brought another woman home to live with them. She resembled the wife, having the same sparkling eyes and slightly darker hair, but she was shorter and younger, and she was … special. Though physically a grown woman (and an older one at that), she had a childlike simplicity and innocence about her. She seemed uncomfortable with her new surroundings and wary of the man, but she was clearly fond of her older sister and trusted her.

The first few days proved a difficult adjustment for the younger woman. She hesitated going from one place to another while she learned her way around, and she ate very little. She sometimes cried in her room at night, and her sister went to soothe her. After the younger woman went back to sleep, the wife would return to her own bed in tears, and her husband would rock her in his arms and lull _her_ back to slumber.

After a week or two, however, the younger woman had settled in nicely and appeared much happier. Her appetite had returned, and she moved about confidently. The man told her funny stories and sang silly songs, and she now smiled at him wholeheartedly. She rarely cried after that first month, but when she did, it was the man who comforted her. She liked to hear his voice, and he would sit in the chair next to her bed, stroke her hand, and tell her tales or sing her back to sleep. Soon she was happy in her new home, and she brought the older couple great happiness, too.

Some days, the little family would never leave the cottage or the yard. When the weather was bad, the women would sew or knit or play draughts, cards, or dice, and the man would read. But when the weather was fine, they might work in the garden together, sway on their swing, or spend time tidying up the yard. Other days, they might leave the house early in the morning and return late in the evening, smiling and laughing, talking about the day's events: long walks in the sunshine and fresh air, trips into the village on errands and to church on Sundays, tea in their favorite tea room, or the village cricket matches. Sometimes in the summer, they would go away for a week and come home with seashells, driftwood, and sandy clothes.

At Christmastime each year, the cottage was transformed into a veritable wonderland. One day in December, the man would leave the house early in the morning, while the two women baked, and he would come back two hours later with frozen extremities and the perfect tree. The three of them would spend the rest of the day decorating and singing. The festive mood and warm atmosphere grew ever merrier as Christmas drew nearer, until finally, on Christmas Day, the house was filled with dear friends, delightful smells, the sounds of music and laughter, and so much love and happiness that the little structure could barely contain it all.

Over the years, the house enjoyed many visitors. The slight, blonde woman visited often with her husband – a tall, dark-haired fellow – and their children. The children especially gravitated toward the younger woman in the house. She was always happy and smiling and willing to oblige them in whatever games they wished to play. She seemed to have boundless energy, and though she was well into her sixth decade, she chased about with the young ones outside in the yard when the weather permitted.

The stocky redhead also came calling with some frequency. Sometimes she brought her husband – a pleasant, ruddy, bearded, little man scarcely taller than his diminutive wife; and sometimes she was accompanied by a pretty, brown-haired girl. When she came with the young girl, they often cooked with the two sisters. The younger sister particularly enjoyed baking biscuits, an avocation which she approached with great enthusiasm.

The man, the woman, and her sister spent many blissful years together in this way as they all grew older. They loved each other very much, treasured their little family, and were more content in their later years than they ever had been in their younger ones.

One morning, however, the older woman didn't wake. Her husband called her name and shook her gently, but it was no use. A tall, thin man in a dark suit came to take her body. The next day, he and two other men brought it back, laid out in a coffin. The younger sister was afraid, but the man consoled her. He explained things in a reassuring manner, and she calmed. The cottage saw a steady stream of visitors that day, some well-to-do and others simple folk, all offering their condolences to the widower and his wife's sister. After everyone had left, the undertaker and his assistants removed the body once more, and the house was left with only two inhabitants.

The day after that, the man and the younger woman dressed in their darkest clothes and were gone until evening. When they came back, they were both somber and readied themselves for bed. That night, when the man wept, his sister-in-law went to his room and drew a chair up next to him in his half-empty bed. She sat there, held his hand, and sang the very song he'd sung to her in those first, frightening weeks. She repeated the stories he'd told her dozens of times. Eventually, the man succumbed to fatigue, and the woman retired to her own room.

For several more years, the two carried on. It was painfully obvious that the man missed his wife, and it was just as evident that the woman missed her sister. But they had each other, and they had many friends, and that was no small consolation.

When the day came that the man fell ill, he calmly asked his wife's sister to fetch the neighbor. He'd prepared her for this possibility (almost a certainty, really), and so she didn't panic. The neighbor-woman came and stayed with the ailing man and his sister-in-law, while her husband went to bring the doctor. The neighbor-man arrived shortly with the village physician, and he also brought the stout red-headed friend. There was little the doctor could do for the old man, though, and within hours, he passed away.

The undertaker came again and took away his body, and the redhead took her friend's younger sister to stay with her. The next day, the two women came back to the cottage to meet the undertaker. The old man's body was laid out in the parlor, just as his wife's had been. The same stream of friends filed through, paying their respects. All the while, the man's sister-in-law was positioned securely between her sister's two dearest friends. After several hours, the guests had left, the body had been removed, and the kind redhead and the ever-helpful blonde coaxed the bereaved sister-in-law gently out the door.

Over the next few days, a team of women cleared out the family's smaller belongings, and a crew of men removed the furniture. The younger woman's things were moved to the red-haired friend's farmhouse, where she now stayed. And the house on Brouncker road, no longer a home, stood empty once more.


End file.
